Los Angeles Metropolitan Superior Court (aka the 7th Level of Hell)

Last week I got a letter on yellow paper telling me that A) there was a hold on my license and B) I need to go to court and pay a $900 bail.  Why you ask?  That’s what I said!

In January I got a traffic ticket for merging into the left lane from the right, a ‘right hand turn only’ lane.  It was on Fairfax, just off the freeway.  Here’s how it goes:

  • You exit the freeway.right lane
  • Within .1 miles (about 500 feet) there’s a sign notifying you that the lane is now ‘Right Lane Must Turn Right.’
  • So you put on your blinker and wait for someone to let you merge left.
  • Within another .1 miles you hit an intersection.
  • And that’s the trick.

So I merged, and crossed through the intersection, and there was Mr. 5-0 in the middle of the road with his ticket pad.  I guess the City of LA knows this is a chicken and egg situation too.

Not be to be defeated, I wrote a letter with photos from Google explaining why the ticket was in error.  I paid my $238 fine and mailed it all along with a little hope that the City would refund me my efforts.

The check was cancelled in March.  My Trial by Declaration was ignored.

And then the letter on yellow paper came.  I called the number.  It was automated.  I Googled the Superior Court.  There are no operators there due to budget cuts.  I realized that I was going to have to go to hell.

  • So I booked a babysitter. ca-ching $ ca-ching
  • And drove all the way downtown. ca-ching $ ca-ching
  • And I parked. ca-ching $ ca-ching $ ca-ching
  • And I stood in line outside. ca-ching $ ca-ching
  • Then I went through a metal detector so I could stand in line inside. ca-ching $ ca-ching
  • And I waited.  And waited.  And waited.  ca-ching $ ca-ching $ ca-ching $ ca-ching
  • 45 minutes later they I got to the front of the line and Window number 20.
  • I showed the woman my letter.  She told me it was a computer error.  I asked when the Trial by Declaration would be settled.  She told me she had no idea.  I asked if there was still a mark on my license.  She didn’t know.  I told her I had just lost hours of my life.  She yawned.

Now I understood the need for metal detectors.  What a Metropolitan Pile of Poop.

 

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